


all you have is your fire & the place you need to reach

by whileromeburns



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Character Study, F/F, No beta we die like archival assistants, The Desolation, jude perry marry me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27225301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whileromeburns/pseuds/whileromeburns
Summary: The click of the lighter was what woke Gretchen up. She roused to the glorious sight of Jude dripping and glistening and holding the lighter they used for smoking, flame lit inches from her chest.“Jude?” She whispered. Scared, not surprised. “What are you doing?”Jude laughed, a delighted, dangerous sound, and set herself alight.
Relationships: Agnes Montague/Jude Perry
Kudos: 10





	all you have is your fire & the place you need to reach

**Author's Note:**

> hnggn scary fire lady,,, hot

Jude Perry was ready to ignite. She had gone to sleep earlier that night tangled up in Gretchen and the sheets, and when the heat woke her up, a deliciously unbearable burn that settled deep within her bones, she knew that it was time. She kicked the bedsheet off of her and sat up, ignoring Gretchen’s sleepy groan of protest and the sweat-damp spot she left behind on the bed. _She was ready._ She walked over to the dresser, opened the topmost drawer, and retrieved a big plastic container, bright blue even in the dim light of a city night filtering in through the blinds, casting Jude in stripes of light and darkness and light and darkness and light.

The liquid she poured over her body brought Jude no relief from the heat, fortunately. She started with her hands, sloshing the fuel into her cupped palm and flicking her wrist so that it gushed down her forearm in a glossy cascade. She observed her skin being covered in that oily sheen and felt her mouth widen into a savage grin. The rest of the liquid went fast, all thoughts of patience and restraint abandoned as Jude upended the can above her head and doused herself in the promise of her becoming. She doubted the kerosene was necessary, but she figured it couldn’t hurt, and she had always had a bit of a flair for the dramatics anyway.

The click of the lighter was what woke Gretchen up. She roused to the glorious sight of Jude dripping and glistening and holding the lighter they used for smoking, flame lit inches from her chest.

“Jude?” She whispered. Scared, not surprised. “What are you doing?” 

Jude laughed, a delighted, dangerous sound, and set herself alight.

The first thing she thought of as the flames engulfed her was Agnes, of course. Her sweet, hopeless Agnes. She remembered the first time she felt the burn, sitting on that booth across from her, surrounded by members of the Lightless Flame. She could almost taste the scalding coffee, smell that scent of matches and incense, feel the warmth radiating off of Agnes’ knees, so close to hers underneath the table. She remembered the heat, high on her cheeks and low in her gut, as she stared at the red-haired woman, speaking so softly yet holding so much power inside of her. She remembered the faces of the people surrounding them, twisted in hunger and utter adoration as they looked at Agnes, and she remembered the burn of bitter jealousy. Jude had been devoted ever since. She loved Agnes with an all-consuming passion that was sure to leave nothing but ashes in its wake. There was a thin, blurred line between god and woman, between worship and desire, but Jude didn’t really care which was which. She had never felt anything in degrees; it was all or nothing, and Agnes was _everything_. 

She opened her eyes to look at Gretchen through the flames. She was staring at Jude in utter horror, her face distorted into a silent scream. Maybe she _was_ screaming, and Jude just couldn’t hear her over the roaring of the fire, over the roaring in her ears. She couldn’t help but laugh again at the agony in Gretchen’s expression, thinking of the destruction she would leave in the wake of her inferno. She was doing this for herself and for her god, but it was nice to know that her actions brought pain to someone else, too. She was tired of being selfish and wasting her god’s love on no one but herself. She lived for the pain she caused, for the desolation: incinerating lives full of promise and love and watching hope crumble underneath the blazing heat of her fire. No light—never light. Only boiling, blistering heat, scorching and searing until there’s nothing left but ashes and pain and destruction. And now, in the fire she was born anew, a phoenix rising from the ashes.

She could feel her body giving way as the fire consumed her, and it enraptured her, that her skin and blood and muscles were feeding the flames. She could smell burning flesh along with matches and incense, she could see the skin of her hand bubbling and blistering and then being eaten away by the blaze, she could feel each of her nerves screaming as they died exquisitely, and, above all else, she could feel the terrifying love of her god, the sheer exaltation of her becoming. It was agonizing, and it was slow, and it was _beautiful_. 

-

Decades later, after time had stopped having any meaning, Jude Perry remembered the moment she had been reborn in fire. Ever since that Beholding bitch Gertrude Robinson had taken Agnes from her, she had burned less fervently, but her fearlessness, her _ruthlessness_ , was intact. She had to make up for the cold, empty spot nestled into her ribs, so she sought to fill it with violence and cruelty, forest fires and burning buildings, glorious displays of power and destruction, but it never lasted. The entire world was made anew, and her god rewarded her, the Desolation’s faithful avatar, with her own little inferno of endless agony and despair, but it still wasn’t Agnes. Even the desperate screams that tore through the blistering throats of those trapped in her hellscape weren’t enough to fill that void.

So when the Archivist showed up, followed by what Jude guessed was his pathetic excuse for a boyfriend, looking like he’d been through hell and back and talking about “ending her,” she thought, _what’s the worst that could happen?_ At best, she’d get a rise out of the voyeuristic runt and feed on his fear; at worst, he’d destroy her and she would stop feeling so goddamn empty. She knew he was powerful in this world, but she was sure that he wouldn’t go up against her—the last time hadn’t gone great for him. She smirked as she looked at the mangled skin of his right palm, the memory of a handshake imprinted on scarred flesh. She taunted him, because it’s pathetic that he wanted to get revenge on her when he had the entire world at his god’s will. But then he said something and she felt her chest constrict as hundreds of thousands of invisible eyes turned upon her, piercing into her skin, no, deeper, into her _soul_ , and… it hurt. She was being consumed, but it was nothing like her rebirth. It felt like the exact opposite: cold and sharp and tearing her apart from the inside out. She hadn’t felt pain like this in a long time, and she couldn't stand it.

She had to get the Archivist to stop. He was hurting her. She tried apologizing, and begging, and reasoning, and lying. Hell, she even offered to _help_ him, but the sanctimonious bastard wouldn’t listen to her, and it _hurt_. He thought he was so much better than her, going around and _smiting_ everyone who’d ever hurt him, acting like it was the right thing to do and putting on a show for his boyfriend, but all that revenge talk was bullshit. She knew that the Archivist was destroying her because it felt _good_ , and he was a monster, just like the rest of them.

“You’re not – _better_ – than – me!” Jude managed to gasp out through the freezing pain, and _goddamn it hurt so much_ —until it didn’t.

As Jude faded away, she smelled matches and incense, and everything was light.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic ever and it had to be about jude perry. rest in peace, queen.


End file.
